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She knew she wasn’t allowed to masturbate without his permission. And she knew he was making breakfast and he’d be back any second.

She didn’t often disobey just for the sake of being punished. But although she could still feel last night’s marks, his hand and his cane on her flesh, this morning’s fucking had been gentle, loving. That was good, but she wanted something different now.

She heard his steps in the corridor. She arched her ass.

She imagined him gasping. Happily: he loved the way she lay on her front, ass up, to wank. Then he’d remember he was supposed to be angry. Then the sound of his belt. Then he would be fast and loud, and hot and sweet, and there would be no more gentleness between them until they were both exhausted.

2 I tried to work a wedding into this week’s effort. But it wouldn’t fit. I compensated by adding steam.

Maddie’s virginity story 2

I was half excited [Maddie said], and half afraid. The Headmaster, his name was Mr Hunter, was a fox. Cool, sculpted smiling face, And he was sort of skinny, but in a cool way. You know, I thought he was older than he was – like Jennifer probably thinks of you – but I fancied him anyway.

I knew he was going to punish me much harder than my silly teacher. That scared me, but I could feel that thought in my belly and in my cunt too. I imagined him reading the note: then he’d look at me, just the two of us in his room. And he’d tell me how he was going to punish me, and what I had to do to make my body available for him.

It wouldn’t be the same as making my body available for him the way I wanted most, the way I wanted him to want me. But it was still sexy. Unimaginably hot. I remember I was shaking, just from the desire I felt. It was like nothing I’d known before.

I don’t know how long I waited after I’d knocked. It felt like forever, and then I heard him call, “Come in.” He had a lovely, deep voice, a take-no-nonsense voice.

So I came in. He looked at me, then at my thighs. The way I’d hitched my skirt they were mostly on show, and they were shaking. I hope he liked them. I hope he liked me. Even if I’d been bad.

He said, “Maddie, isn’t it? What are you doing here?”

I said my teacher had sent me. I collected all the bravado I could manage and said, “I expects she wants you to punish me.”

I passed him the note she’d written. He read it while I watched his face, hoping to see anything like a smile or a twitch of humour. But he only frowned. He looked at me for ages – it was probably only a few seconds, but it seemed forever.

Eventually he stood up. He said, “What are you expecting to happen now, Maddie?”

I was meshing my fingers. I was still massively turned on, but I was getting scared too. “You’re going to punish me, Mr Hunter.”

“Sir will do for now, Maddie. All right. It’s clear to me that you like trying to make your teacher look silly. So I think I know where we’ll start. Take off your jacket and shirt, Maddie-”

“Sir! You can’t make me -“

“- So I can strap your hands. Ah, Maddie? You want to tell me what I can’t make you do? You’ve been given your copy of the school’s rules, I trust, Maddie?”

“Yes, sir, but -”

“Good. Because I hope you remember that not knowing the rules is a paddling offence. So, do you know your school rules?”

“Y-yes, sir.” I was terrified that he’d question me on them. I’d read them once, and I don’t think I could have told him any of them.

He’d scared me into lying to him. He knew I was lying, too. But he just said, “so, according to the rules, who gets to decide what clothing a student removes, to prepare herself for discipline, Maddie? Me, or you?”

“You, sir.”

“That’s right. Now, because you objected, I’m going to add more strokes, of course. And – I trust that you’re wearing a regulation school bra, Maddie, and not some skimpy thing of your own?”

I was so lucky. My bras were in the wash, so I’d worn the school one that morning. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m astonished. But good girl, for that at least. So, you’ll take off the jacket, and the shirt, and the bra, Maddie.”

I said nothing. I thought he was waiting for me to protest. Eventually I realised and said, “Yes, sir.” And I began to undo my buttons. I could see I had goosebumps on my breasts. then I put my clothes on the chair. The chair that was for girls who weren’t in trouble. (That was what I thought then. Yeah, I soon learned what chairs are for.)

So I stood facing facing him. He could get an eyeful of my goosebumps, I thought. But I was naked from the waist up and I knew that wasn’t really what he was looking at.

He looked at me, my belly and my bare breasts for ages, again. I wanted him to be pleased, but he showed no sign.

I was so aware of my body. No man had seen my breasts before. My thighs were shaking again. And my cunt flowed.I could feel it, you know, spillage, running down my inner thighs.

Those words aren’t entirely true, to put it mildly. I put them in the post because they are, or can be, part of the dialogue between dominant and submissive. The dom may say, “It’s simple. You just have to do as you’re told. I’ll look after the rest.”

It’s only a limited sense in which submission is simple. If you are the submissive, and your session is going well, and the dom and sub are in synch with each other, then the submissive’s choices are indeed simple. If the dom says, “bend over the table”, or “onto your knees,” or simply, “stay there, don’t speak and don’t move”, the submissive knows what he or she has to do, and does it.

Simples!

But the process of acknowledging one’s own submissive desires, as you become sexually active, or at least thinking and desiring sexually, is not simple. That can be a long and hard process, as my acknowledging my own domness was.

The process of going from ordinary head space to a submissive head space, in the interaction between dominant and submissive: that’s not simple at all.

Doms do things that they think will help the submissive make that transition, which vary from person to person. Currently, I give lots of hugs and cuddles and the occasional smack on the bottom, and lots of praise and reassurance, slowly heading to the first use of the command voice. That’s with my lovely girl. If it were a different submissive the approach would be different.

Like any dom, I can only provide an atmosphere in which it might feel both safe and sexy to submit. The mental work of shutting off the usual rush of thoughts, focussing on the moment and then “dropping”: that’s done by the submissive.

As a non-switch I don’t have direct, personal access to what moving into the submissive headspace is like.

But just as submissives know things that help bring out the domness in their lover, doms know a certain amount about how submission works and even (imaginatively) what it feels like to enter it.

All lovers work out as much as they can about how and what their partner is feeling, drawing on lovers’ intuition, observation, sand listening.

So when I said, “submission is simple”, I meant it as a piece of dom rhetoric, the sort of thing that I might (and do) say to the woman in that photo, at about that moment. It focusses only on the part of submission (being told what to do, and doing it) that is – in one sense – simple.

After that it gets philosophical: nothing is simple, and yet everything is simple.

Raylene looked at the bed. While her freshly-thrashed arse burned, she didn’t want anything to touch her bottom, not even the air. So a simple order like, “Bed,” presented her with challenges she didn’t know what to do with.

She grimaced. “If you don’t mind, Master, I think I’d prefer to stand for the next couple of years.”

I held her to me, her head pressed loving and trusting against my chest.

And I reached down and gave her ass an open-palmed spank, as hard as I could. Raylene cried out in pain and some indignation. If I wasn’t going to feel sorry for her under those circumstances, then … when?

“Darling, you’ve got a Master. What does that make you?”

“A slave, a slavegirl of some sort?”

“Yes. We won’t say so too often, but yes, that’s exactly what it makes you.” I wasn’t sure that was true. But in the moment, sometimes I just say what I think will be hot.

“You’re property. I own you. I mentioned I’m falling in love with you, and I’ll look after you. But you don’t choose what you do, not anymore. Not once I’ve told you what to do.”

Raylene said nothing. She put her arms around me and let her breasts weigh on my chest. She clung to me like a jasmine.

She looked at me, big-eyed. “Well, I can’t think of any way of being in bed where the sheets won’t hurt me. Even if I lie flat on my tummy.”

“Ok. Now, guess something. Does it matter, even a tiny bit, if the bed hurts your ass?”

“Oh.” That was a new thought. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“That’s right. You just got a hard lesson in behaviour. It’ll go on hurting a lot for an hour or two, I expect. But it’s over. And I don’t care that your ass still hurts. Understand that. You having a sore backside: it’ll happen to you whenever I see fit, and it does not matter if it hurts. Your pain does not matter. Not during. Not afterwards.”

Raylene had listened to this open-mouthed. She didn’t disagree. These were just things that hadn’t occurred to her before. “Oh. Ok.”

“So, get onto the bed. I’d going to fuck you. I need to fuck you. I think you need to be fucked. As if what you need matters.”

She looked solemn. Then nodded. “No, of course that wouldn’t matter.”

I kissed her. I suppose I don’t cane for irony. “Get up on the bed. Hands and knees. Get your ass up, and keep it up.”

“Yes, master.” And she scrambled up onto the bed, pulling the top sheet and blankets aside, and posing like a cat needing fucking.

A cat with the yummiest, reddest, striped ass in the universe. She looked so beautiful.

“Good girl. I’m going to fuck you, pressed against that nice hot ass. I’m going to enjoy your heat. And I’m going to hurt you while I fuck you. What do you know about that?”

Raylene arched her back, presenting herself as spectacularly as she could. “I know now that it doesn’t matter if it hurts, Master.”

“Good girl. I knew you’re a clever girl.” And I took my clothes off and climbed up onto the bed with her, wanting her more desperately than I was going to tell her, and put my hands on her hips.

I went to a school like this one [Maddie said], so there was very strict discipline. And I was a bit wild as a girl.

I used to truant a lot. Bunk off. Wag. Play hookey. Sluff off. I’d go into town, and hang around in my uniform, perching on things, and watching men trying not to look at my legs. Total strangers. I thought they were creeps, and I felt it was kind of hot. My body was changing. Well, it had mostly changed, but I hadn’t caught up with it yet.

Anyway, my teacher caught me. She grabbed me, took me back to school in her car, then strapped me in front of the whole class. Made me bend over, right over. She let me keep my panties up, but she made me hold my skirt up so it was over my waist.

And she got out the leather strap. Oooh, she went hard on my bottom. Hard, sir. Wow.

But it didn’t hurt, not like I thought it would. It felt … I didn’t know then. but it felt good and it really unsettled me. After she’d given me, I don’t know, maybe thirty or forty strokes, she was red-faced. Much more than the exertion would explain. Afterwards she made me stand up front, facing the class.

The girls looked at me kind of coldly. Like I’d let them down. Or they were jealous. Because none of the boys would meet my eye, but I knew there wasn’t a cock in that room that wasn’t hard. For me. I don’t know how I knew that, but I knew it.

It was probably the first time I knew something about sex. I mean, knew it for myself, not from books. Maybe it was from the smell.

Male arousal. Mmm. [Maddie kissed my armpit.]

So while I was bending over, getting that strap across my panties, I was really the one in control.

If I wanted that feeling, and all the boys wanting me, I only had to be cheeky to that poor, silly teacher. She’d make me come up and bend over, and by the time she got the strap out from her desk drawer I’d be flowing.

I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t want her. I suppose I only learned to like girls later. But I wanted to be taken. I wanted to be filled. Didn’t really know what with, but I wanted it so badly.

I’d go into the toilets the first break after the strapping, every time, and get myself off. God, it never took long.

Anyway, she eventually gave up. The next time I was cheeky to her, she wrote a long note for me to give to the headmaster. I thought that’d be much the same: a bit painful, a bit sexy.

So when class was over I ran straight to the headmaster’s office. Then I hitched my skirt as high as I could, and knocked on his door.

Elust 93

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I’ve been thinking about this Amy Winehouse song for a while now. It’s an odd song.

In places it sounds like a frustrated submissive telling her dom to lift his game and take over, stepping up to his role.

Bdsm si! El patriarcado non!

In other places (more often, to be honest) it sounds more like a woman who’s completely internalised patriarchy and sexism. As such she expects a man, any man in any relationship, to take charge. Because that’s the only way it’s right for men to be.

Not because the two of them agreed for it to be that way, maybe after a discussion in which the possibility of other power balances and imbalances was at least recognised.

Because her man doesn’t tell her what to do and is emotionally open, she’s uncomfortable. She accuses him of being a “lady boy” and asks him if he’s gay.

Sometimes it sounds like a bdsm song to me: “Dominate me, Henry” . Other times she sounds like those mad, angry Christians who complain that boys are taught to be softies, and go apeshit when gays and intergender people are treated as anything except punching bags.

In the video, the problem is that the guy drinks and falls over a lot. It completely misses the point of the song. It’s not about drinking problems, it’s about the man and woman having completely different ideas about their roles.

Still, if you were directing a video with Amy W in it, I can see how “drinking and falling down” might have occurred to you as a theme.

Anyway, I still think the song is hot. Not for the best reasons, but there it is.

We lay together, Maddie and I, naked on the spare sickroom mattress, partly on blankets and pillows. Maddie had been sleeping but she woke again. She’d rose on one elbow, to kiss me and look down at my cock. Maddie did, after all, enjoy fellatio.

But I kissed her, and kept her head level with mine. “You gave me a lot of advice about Jennifer.”

Maddie smiled, reminiscently. “Yes. Was it good advice?”

“It was very good advice. She wants to give herself to me.”

Maddie licked my right nipple, then looked up at me. “First fuck for Jennifer.”

“Well, yes. But I mean, she really wants to give herself to me.”

“You’ll look after her, won’t you?”

“Yes. I couldn’t not. She’s like a flower. A precious orchid. But … when you were telling me … things, I had the impression you were telling me about your own virginity. You didn’t want what happened to you to happen to Jennifer.”

“All advice is autobiography, they say.”

“So it is. So… what did happen to you?”

Maddie kissed me again, and rolled onto her back, head on a pillow, hands behind her head. “Well, memories change. But this is what I recollect.” She coughed, as if about to begin a recitation at a school concert. “My virginity: loss of. The story.”

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